by Stephen Ross
I first became aware my neighbor was a killer one day after her husband disappeared. I saw her in her backyard with a shovel and a smile as radiant as summer.
I asked her: “Are you putting down a new potato patch?”
“No,” she said. “I’m burying my husband.”
“What happened to him?”
“I murdered him.”
She then spent three hours digging a hole six feet deep.
Afterward, I brought her coffee and cake, and I invited her to go and see a movie. She accepted.
It’s funny how things sometimes work out. And I finally got my lawnmower back.